


under huden

by mnabokov



Category: Land of Mine (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 20:17:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13174431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnabokov/pseuds/mnabokov
Summary: Sebastian is stubborn.





	under huden

“Can’t you talk to him?”

“I haven’t eaten in two days.”

The boys come and they are hungry. They ask Sebastian, ask him to ask the Sergeant.

“It’s me,” Sebastian says, the next day when he goes in to talk to the Sergeant. He’d waited until his stomach turned itself inside out, until he felt raw. Then he waited some more. Now here he is. “Sebastian.”

“What do you want,” Sergeant asks brusquely. His boots are dark welts of black against the gray floor. He looks up at Sebastian.

“We haven’t had anything to eat. In two days, sir.” Sebastian’s mouth is dry. Sergeant looks out the window. Sebastian steps closer. “Sergeant? If we don’t get anything to eat -- ”

“So what?” Sergeant turns; looks at Sebastian. “Do you think I feel sorry for you?”

“Sir -- ”

“Do you think I feel sorry for you?”

Sebastian swallows. He resists the urge to step back as Sergeant steps closer. “No, sir. Sergeant.”

“I don’t fucking care.”

“Sir, I was only -- ”

“I said, I don’t fucking care.”

“I know that you don’t care but,” Sebastian licks his lips. They’re dry and they taste like salt. “I could -- ”

The sergeant frowns. “You could what?”

Sebastian fights the knot in his throat and speaks. “You could -- my mouth -- ” Sebastian looks downward and then back up. He tugs his collar.

The sergeant’s eyes darken. “Get out,” he says after a moment.

Sebastian’s voice is hoarse. Desperate. “You could have my mouth, my -- ”

“Get out,” Sergeant hisses again, stepping away. “I don’t know when the food comes, and the Germans aren’t first in line.”

“Sergeant -- ”

“Get out!”

 

-

 

Wilhelm leaves on a medical truck and Sebastian is left with the dust floating in his eyes, in his mouth, as he watches the truck drive away.

 

-

 

The boys are throwing up, heaving, retching the little they have inside of them. “Why weren’t you affected?” the sergeant asks. His jaw is tight. Sebastian looks away. “I wasn’t offered any.”

 

-

 

“I want to show you something, Sergeant.”

“I know what it is, I understand. I’m not stupid. Take your toy and get back to bed.”

“I know you hate us. I know you don’t care if we get blown up or die of hunger.”

“I don’t care.” This is the truth.

“But the beach must be cleared of mines, sir.”

“I understand that. Do you understand that you need to get to bed now?”

“Do you understand me?”

“Do I understand you? Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

 

-

 

A black beetle, crawling across yellowing grass.

“What shall we call it?”

“Benny.”

A black beetle, crawling across a boy’s pale hand. Skin.

“Timmy.”

“Benny Tim.”

Half a smile. “Tim Benny.”

 

-

 

The night the Allied soldiers come, Sebastian is the one who drags Ludwig to the hose by the side of the wooden shack. Ludwig smells like piss and semen and fear. When Sebastian turns on the hose, his hands are shaking.

The water is cold, and washes away the slick around Ludwig’s mouth, the stickiness on his skin. “Sebastian,” Ludwig croaks.

Sebastian shuts off the water. From where they are, by the shack, he can hear Sergeant talking to the other soldiers. “If they are old enough to go to war, they are old enough to clean up.”

 

-

 

“Shit… Ludwig, stop! Ludwig! There are two mines, on top of one another!”

“Werner! Stop! Werner!”

“Werner!”

“Werner! Werner, where are you?”

“Ernest. Sit down.”

“Werner? Werner! Say something! Where are you?”

“Ernest, calm down.”

“Get off me!”

“Ernest -- ”

“We must look for him!”

 

-

 

“Sebastian, out.”

Sebastian watches, leaning against the rotting wood, peering through the dirty window. Sergeant reaches out, dirty hands against Ernest’s close-cropped hair. Pushes him gently down to the pillow. Ernest sleeps.

Sebastian leaves.

He heads out, towards the ocean. Against a warm sand dune he sits, staring out across the water. His hands feel unclean, no matter how many times he washes them in the sea.

Sergeant finds him a little while later; he sits next to Sebastian, on the yellowing grass.

“I lied to you. Wilhelm didn’t survive.”

“I know sir.” This close, Sebastian can smell the musk of the other man.

When Sebastian jerks the cross in Sergeant’s face, the Sergeant laughs, long and whole and hearty. Sebastian smiles wide for the first time in a long time.

“Come on,” Sergeant says. “Time to get back.”

“In a moment.” Sebastian tugs off his shirt and wades into the deep water. The salt stings, reminds him of every wound on his bound. But it cleans.

When Sebastian comes back, his pants are dripping wet. “Finished?” Sergeant asks dryly.

Sebastian nods. “Finished.”

They walk back in step, across grass and sand, to the rotting shack.

“Come on,” Sergeant jerks his head to the structure conjoined with the farmhouse, “I’ll get you something dry.”

The inside of Sergeant’s room is Spartan. Sebastian’s been here before, but this time he has the luxury to examine the insides as Sergeant ducks down to retrieve a towel.

Sergeant glances up and gestures towards the cot. Sebastian sits.

After rummaging a moment longer, Sergeant straightens up with a roll of gauze. This he hands to Sebastian. “Take some back for the other boys.”

“Thank you.”

Sergeant raises the towel and swipes at Sebastian’s ear. The towel comes back dark.

“You don’t keep any pictures,” Sebastian says.

Sergeant grunts. “No one to keep pictures of.”

Sebastian looks up at the sergeant. He glances at the dull metal of Sergeant’s belt. “Can I -- ”

Sergeant takes Sebastian’s wrist from where it stretched out and pushes it away firmly. His other hand clenches around the soiled towel. “I don’t want that from you.”

“I know you like my mouth, I’ve seen you looking -- ”

“Sebastian, stop.”

“I’ll be good, I promise.”

Sergeant’s grip tightens in warning. The dry skin of Sebastian’s hand cracks.

“Please, I just,” Sebastian licks his lips. “I don’t -- I don’t want the first time to be like what, like how Ludwig -- ”

“I told those men to stay away.” Sergeant’s grip tightens. “Did they -- ”

“No,” Sebastian shakes his head. With his other hand he reaches out and clutches Sergeant’s belt, “They haven’t, but I’m -- ”

Sergeant closes his eyes. Clenches his jaw.

Sebastian babbles, “Please, Sergeant, I can’t, I need -- ”

“Get up,” Sergeant yanks, tugging him up. “Quiet.”

Sebastian, at Sergeant’s urging, stands, feet bare against the gray floor. His cheeks are blotchy and his lips are pressed into a thin line.

“You don’t give in,” Sergeant says lowly. He leans in. “You hear me? You don’t give up, to anyone. You don’t let them break you.”

“I’m not giving in,” Sebastian says.

Sergeant lets go of Sebastian’s wrist. “Get out.”

“I’m taking something for my own.”

“I said, get out!”

“I’m in control of so little in my life, why can’t I control this?”

“Because I won’t give it to you,” Sergeant says. “Because you think you are thinking clearly, but you are not.”

Sebastian steps closer.

“Sebastian, I already told you.”

“Will you make me? Make me leave?”

“Do not test me, boy.”

Sebastian steps closer again. “Would you push me out? Hurt me? Like they did?”

Sergeant lashes out, grabbing a fistful of Sebastian’s shirt. “Don’t you dare compare me to them.”

“Are you saying you won’t hurt me? Won’t hurt us? Because you know that’s a -- ”

Sergeant shoves Sebastian down, one hand in his shirt, the other pushing down on Sebastian’s shoulder. He presses one knee forward until Sebastian’s spine hits the metal cot, yanks Sebastian’s hair forward and presses Sebastian’s face against the zipper of his pants. “Is this what you want?” Sergeant hisses. He shoves his hips forward. “To be fucked like this, is that what you need?”

And then Sergeant steps back. He turns around and presses the back of his hand to his lips. The material of his pants are warm from where they pressed against Sebastian’s mouth. “Go to bed, Sebastian.”

Sebastian rises, legs shaking. Coltish. He hesitates for a moment.

“Go.”

Sebastian goes.

They sleep.

 

-

 

They find a large coconut and play a bit of football before the sun goes down. Sergeant treks across the dunes to find them playing in the cleared sand, yelling and hollering, kicking their makeshift ball back and forth. He watches them.

Hermann spots him first, and yells to the other boys. They slow to a jog and Ernest scoops up the coconut, cradling it near his chest as they end their game.

“Time for bed,” Sergeant says.

The next day when he opens the shack, Sergeant has the same coconut tucked under his arm. He hands it off to Sebastian. “Take the boys down to the beach. Get some air. Run a bit. I have business.”

“Sir?” Sebastian frowns.

“Do as I say.” Sergeant turns around and climbs into his jeep. Doesn’t look back as he drives away.

When he returns, the shack is empty. The beach, however, is full of boyish shouting and scuffling. This is the first time they play during the day.

“Want to join us?” Sebastian hollers when he notices Sergeant watching. Sergeant waves him off.

Sebastian turns back and continues playing. The sun burns his cheeks and the wind whips salt into his eyes and his hair but he doesn’t mind.

Herded by Sebastian, the boys head back to the shack before Sergeant comes looking for them. They chat amongst themselves and polish off the last loaf of bread they saved from that morning: Sebastian tears the bread into pieces and hands each boy an equal chunk.

They linger outside and around the shack. Some boys throw the coconut ball between them half-heartedly. Others stretch out on the dirt to soak in the last of the orange sun. Ernest sits alone in the grass, farthest away. The golden hour watches over them, quiet.

One by one, the boys head inside, tired from a day of sprinting and shouting. Only Ernest and Sebastian are left as the sun begins to dip below the horizon.

Sebastian moves to sit next to Ernest. Ernest is holding a beetle in his hand, against his bare skin. “He loved animals,” Ernest says. “I love animals.”

Sebastian watches Ernest let the black beetle scuttle away, back into the dry grass.

After Ernest clambers into his cot, Sebastian climbs into his. The last dregs of sunlight filter through their dirty window.

A loud creak wakes him up in the middle of the night. Sebastian blinks blindly before his eyes adjust. Below, Ludwig is having a nightmare.

Bare feet against the gray ground. “Ludwig,” Sebastian whispers, shaking him. “It’s just a dream, wake up.”

Ludwig’s shirt is soaked through with sweat and his eyes are unseeing.

“Ludwig -- ”

“S-Sebastian?”

“Go back to sleep. It’s just a dream.”

Ludwig clutches Sebastian’s hand. When his grip slackens, Sebastian steps away. He returns to his own cot and tries to sleep. Can’t.

He stares up at the ceiling and wonders when he’ll go home.

After some time of restlessness, Sebastian slips out of his cot. The shack door doesn’t make a sound as he emerges.

Overhead, the moon is dull. Underfoot, the dirt is cool.

Sebastian makes his way to the room conjoined to the farmhouse. It’s unlocked. He steps in.

Moonlight slants across the floor and the single cot. Sebastian moves across the ground; his bare feet are noiseless. He moves until his knees brush the metal edge of the cot. “Sergeant?”

Sergeant reacts instinctively, still half-asleep: he grabs Sebastian’s collar and then the back of his head, propelling them both towards the wall. His calloused hands wrap around the pillar of Sebastian’s neck; Sebastian’s throat pulses.

“It’s -- it’s me, Sebastian,” Sebastian manages.

Sergeant’s eyes focus. His hands drop. He steps back, unsteady, before half-sitting, half-collapsing onto the edge of the cot. He suddenly looks years older. “What -- ”

Sebastian bites the inside of his cheek, hard, before dropping slowly to his knees. Sergeant begins to speak but Sebastian reaches out and tugs at his belt. Sergeant’s nostrils flare.

With trembling hands, Sebastian works open the belt, and tugs open the pants. Sebastian looks up. Sergeant’s expression is dark. Hungry.

 _A good man_ , Sergeant thinks, _would stop the boy here_.

Sebastian pulls out Sergeant’s soft cock, wraps a tentative hand around his length. His palm is warm, not quite rough. Skin.

_I’m not a good man._

Sebastian inhales shakily. Sergeant offers him no words of comfort.

The first touch is hesitant, a slow drag of tongue against skin. Sergeant makes a quiet, aborted noise. Underneath Sebastian’s fists, the sergeant’s thighs clench.

His mouth is warm and wet. Sergeant’s hand skates across the side of Sebastian’s head before gripping at the longest strands of hair at his crown.

Sebastian bobs slowly, haltingly, up and down. His eyes are half-lidded and his jaw slack. His breathing is shallow.

Sergeant shifts, slightly, and his cock slips deep. Sebastian chokes and Sergeant pulls him back by the hair.

Eyes watering, Sebastian watches Sergeant grip himself, jerk rough and fast. Sergeant’s eyes snag on the triangle of skin exposed by Sebastian’s open collar, the slick on his lips.

A low grunt is all the warning Sebastian gets before he feels the warm ropes on his throat and chin. He blinks back his tears. Sergeant’s cock is limp against his thigh, drooling a stain onto his pants.

The smell of sex and musk fills the room, cloying. Breathing raggedly, Sergeant pushes Sebastian back, then tucks himself back into his pants. He swipes a towel and tosses it to Sebastian.

The rough towel drags against Sebastian’s neck, his chin, his cheeks. It leaves his skin pink and sticky.

 

-

 

The next day they’re back on the beach, working on their bellies. After a long day, they head back to the shack, quiet.

In the evening, Sebastian waits until everyone’s breathing evens out before he slips out again, towards the sergeant’s room.

Smoke curls in the air, stretching out in ribbons from the cigar dangling from the corner of Sergeant’s mouth. He’s standing by the cot, holding a letter in hand.

“I thought you said you had no one to write letters to,” Sebastian says, stopping by the foot of the cot.

Sergeant considers reprimanding him for speaking so freely. He sucks on his cigar. Exhales. “I said I had no one to keep pictures of.” He holds up the letter. “My next assignment.”

Beyond the windowpane, the sky bleeds amber and orange and purple.

“I wanted to say thank you.”

Sergeant’s eyebrows furrow.

“For letting us play football,” Sebastian clarifies, “Yesterday.”

Sergeant puffs. A cloud of smoke obscures them for a moment. When the vapors clear, Sebastian’s made his way closer. Sergeant waves the last of the smoke away and Sebastian sinks to his knees.

“This isn’t payment,” Sergeant says. It doesn’t quite sound like a question. “This isn’t -- ”

Sebastian flips open Sergeant’s belt in lieu of responding.

Sebastian sucks and licks and mouths slowly for a few minutes; his knees rock against the floor and his hand fists into the baggy material of Sergeant’s pant. Then he pulls off. A thin line of spit drips from the corner of his mouth.

“You can,” Sebastian says, wiping his lips, “You can fuck my mouth.”

Before Sergeant replies, Sebastian takes his cock back into his mouth. He pushes forward, nose almost touching the thatch of hair at the base.

Sergeant curses lowly. He reaches out and threads his fingers in Sebastian’s hair before canting his hips forward. Sergeant thrusts like that, heavy boots rocking against the floor, hands clutching Sebastian’s head. Sebastian gurgles.

With a rough groan, Sergeant comes in the pocket of Sebastian’s cheek. His fingers tighten in Sebastian’s hair before letting ago quickly, as though he were burned.

Sergeant’s flaccid cock slips from Sebastian’s mouth. Sebastian chokes and spits on the dirty floor.

After he leaves, Sebastian’s mouth tastes bitter -- even after swirling the stale hose water for several minutes. He climbs back into bed.

Sebastian stares up at the uneven ceiling. He presses the heel of his palm against his crotch, then thinks better of it. He lets his hand drop away. He falls into an uneasy sleep.

 

-

 

Another day.

Another stretch of the beach, another set of mines.

Sergeant watches them work from a sand dune, one hand against his face to block the sun. Sebastian turns to look at him and when their eyes catch, Sergeant turns away.

 

-

 

He tells himself not to expect anything.

And yet, Sergeant’s kicked his sheets to the foot of his bed in discomfort. He stares at the ceiling, trying to convince himself not to wait. The small voice never comes and Sergeant doesn’t remember when he falls asleep.

 

-

 

Sebastian’s lips are pretty pink when he pulls away.

“Come here,” Sergeant says again, voice rough. He’s sitting on the edge of the cot. When Sebastian stands, his chin clears the Sergeant’s head easily. Sergeant reaches out to palm the bulge in Sebastian’s pants. Sebastian makes a noise that sounds like a whimper. He sways closer, like he’s drunk.

“Come here,” Sergeant says again, softer. When he works his fingers around Sebastian’s length, Sebastian chokes and leans his cheek against the sergeant’s jaw. Sebastian’s breath is hot against Sergeant’s temple. Sergeant hooks his other hand into the loop of Sebastian’s belt, tugs him close so that he can grab both of their cocks in hand.

Sebastian’s hips stutter.

Sebastian’s bare skin is smooth under Sergeant’s palm, where his shirt’s been rucked up to expose his hips, his waist. Sebastian hitches one knee onto the bed, bracketing Sergeant’s thigh, for a better angle. He thrusts unevenly into Sergeant’s hand, against his cock.

Sergeant tilts his head back and Sebastian leans forward. The corners of their mouth catch. Metal creaking of the cot fills the air as Sebastian thrusts faster.

Rough stubble scratches Sebastian’s cheek when he presses his mouth against the stretch of skin underneath Sergeant’s ear. Sergeant’s squeezes, slick and tight around their cocks, almost painfully.

The metal creaking stops.

Sebastian looks down, blinking away his orgasm as he watches Sergeant come.

  
-

 

Another day. Another stretch of beach. The boys are hard at work, so none of them look up at Sergeant. He stands and looks and looks and looks.

 

-

 

They make it to the bed, this time.

The moon has waned to a mere sliver, a comma in the sky. A breath, a pause.

Sebastian is sprawled across the cot, military-issued pants caught around his knees. His hands grip the metal railing that serves as a headboard. Sergeant’s hand curls around Sebastian’s cock, and Sebastian bucks, whimpering. The head of his cock peeks out from Sergeant’s fist. Sebastian’s skin is pale against the dirty sheets.

Sergeant takes some pleasure in the boy’s sensitivity. He wraps a hand around Sebastian’s waist. His hips are soft and unblemished, like a woman.

Sebastian comes with a stuttered groan, mouth falling open. Sergeant leans forward, working him through it. His other hand squeezes the lump of sheets by Sebastian’s ear.

Sergeant’s hand lets go of Sebastian’s cock. His hand slips down Sebastian’s hip, to the smooth expanse of his thighs. When Sergeant’s rough fingers brush his skin, Sebastian jerks.

Shoving at his pants, the sergeant pulls out his cock, presses against against the canvas of Sebastian’s stomach. He stretches out his body, the better to rock against Sebastian; in between their open mouths, their breaths mingle. Sebastian’s nose bumps against Sergeant’s cheek, and then the metal bed groans and creaks. Their mouths slot together, not quite on accident. Their tongues taste like cigar smoke and dirt.

 

-

 

The sergeant gives them another day to play in the sand. This is the second time.

The coconut flies between a few of the boys. Ludwig and Helmut are racing across the sand.

Sebastian looks up again from the game. His expression is unreadable. “Want to join?” he says eventually. Sergeant shakes his head.

 

-

 

The third time -- the last time -- Sergeant gives in. They choose their teams and then run across the beach, bare feet slapping against the sand.

They finish their game and head back to the shack. Sergeant throws a ball for his dog. The dog doesn’t come back.

 

-

 

“Soldier Ludwig Haffke. You were responsible for field 7, correct?”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“Everything has been accounted for?”

“1,200 mines were buried, 1,200 were found, disarmed and accounted for.”

“But you have counted wrong?”

“I counted them twice. Sir.”

“1,200 mines were buried and 1,200 mines were removed.”

“Get the ball. Get the ball! Like a dog! With your mouth! Good dog. Very good dog.”

 

-

 

Into the room. Moonlight slanting across the floor.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“It wasn’t his fault.”

“Get out.”

Bare feet against gray ground.

“I said -- ”

On the bed. Dull metal of a buckle, glinting in the moonlight. Skin.

Sergeant wrestles Sebastian onto the bed, and it isn’t long before their mouths meet in an exchange of breaths. Sergeant slides a hand into Sebastian’s hand and jerks. Metal creaks. It isn’t long before Sebastian comes, like clockwork.

This time, Sergeant pushes Sebastian’s legs together, then slips his cock in between. He ruts, back and forth, sliding fingers into his mouth then between Sebastian’s legs to ease the way. The head of his prick catches on Sebastian’s hole, then slips free.

Sergeant’s cock rocks back and forth, in between Sebastian’s thighs. When Sergeant comes, he digs into Sebastian’s hip so hard he draws blood.

 

-

 

A conversation, from a long time ago:

“I know you hate us. I know you don’t care if we get blown up or die of hunger.”

“I don’t care.” This is no longer the truth.

“But the beach must be cleared of mines, sir.”

“I understand that. Do you understand that you need to get to bed now?”

“Do you understand me?”

“Do I understand you? Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

 

-

 

“Carl! Carl! Where's the sergeant? Where's the sergeant? Help! Help! My little girl!”

“Elisabeth? Elisabeth!”

“Sit down, honey, one of the boys will come get you.”

“Ernest! Ernest!”

“Hi there. Did she heal?”

“Ernest!”

“Did you know Werner? He’s a good brother. He looks like me. I would do anything for him.”

“Ernest, give her to me.”

“Come here, Ernest.”

“Ernest, come please.”

“Ernest. What are you doing?”

“Come back!”

 

-

 

Ernest goes up in a plume of dark smoke.

Sebastian feels numb when he walks back to the shack. The other boys go inside. He sits on a grassy knoll and puts his head between his knees.

Black welts of a boot against yellowing grass.

Sergeant comes to a halt near Sebastian. He feels a hand on his shoulder, then on his temple. Sergeant’s hands feel warm. Familiar.

“Wipe your eyes,” Sergeant says, voice low. His lips brush against Sebastian’s temple. His hands, rough and calloused, cradle Sebastian’s head. “Repeat after me. It’ll be over soon.”

“It’ll be over soon.”

“I’m going home soon.”

“I’m going home soon.”

“Okay?”

“I -- yes.”

“Stop crying. I need you. The others need you. Be strong. Can you do that?”

Sebastian nods. “Yes, I -- yes.”

“You are strong.”

“I’m strong.”

“Say it again.”

“I’m strong.”

“I’m going home soon.”

“I’m going home soon.”

“Go to bed,” Sergeant claps his hand against Sebastian’s cheek, palm warm.

For a moment, Sergeant looks into Sebastian’s face. Sergeant thinks of all the things he could have said. He hopes this is enough. “Go to bed.”

 

-

 

“Helmut Morbach?”

“Yes.”

“Rodolf Selke?”

“Yes.”

“Ludwig Haffke?”

“Yes.”

“Sebastian Schumann?”

“Come up. Come on. Come up! Get out! All of you.”

Sergeant, again. Opening the back of the truck. “You must go that way,” Sergeant says. “The Border is about 500 meters from here. Then you’ll be in Germany.” He looks each of the boys. “Go on, run. Run!”

They run.


End file.
